Bleed it Out
by GreenLoki
Summary: After a job gone wrong, these two criminals have nowhere to go. Locked in a cheap motel-room, Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton have some stuff they need to work out. (This is co-written by Cassy27.)


Author's Note – Co-written by **Cassy27**. We did great, girl!

* * *

Bleed It Out

* * *

The motel-room was small and filthy, and Natasha hated it here. She was used to luxury, to expensive hotel rooms and grand dinners. She was used to being spoiled silly and getting diamonds as a surprise present – whether Clint actually paid for them or not was unimportant. Instead, she found herself holed up in this rotten room and they couldn't even watch TV to distract themselves.

She sat on her bed, her legs folded underneath her and her arms crossed before her chest while she was glaring at nothing in particular. Her mind was racing to discover what the hell had happened the last two nights. It should have been an easy kill; a young woman who lived alone in a small house at the edge of town. There hadn't been any animals, no alarms, not even _neighbours_ and yet … everything had gone wrong. The woman had struggled and fought and managed to escape them. She had fucking escaped!

It wasn't as if she had seen their faces – Natasha and Clint were much too careful for that – but still, they needed to be careful the next few days, and they needed to lay low. In the very least, they had to wait until the police finally lifted the road-blocks. The moment that happened, they would be out of here.

But Natasha found that she was … _itching_. It had been almost two months since their last kill and with their latest hit gone wrong, Natasha felt as if she slowly losing her mind. She craved to feel power and dominance over another human being; she craved to feel blood on her hands, to witness someone's life disappearing from one's eyes.

Her gaze fell on Clint Barton who lay on the bed next to hers. He looked calm, but Natasha knew Clint well enough to know that his serenity was all a façade. He craved a kill as much as she craved it. That's how they had found each other, and that's how they worked so well together. They understood each other, but that didn't mean they _liked_ each other.

She sighed heavily, but she felt like screaming.

A glance was spared in her direction before it was trained back on the television that stood before them, though he wasn't really seeing it. If anything, the damn thing was back-noise, something that they needed otherwise, they'd lose their minds. They weren't meant for sitting. Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff – they were an interesting breed. They were predators and everyone else was the prey.

What happened back at the woman's house … it was a fluke. It wasn't meant to happen. He still didn't know _what_ went wrong, only that they were suddenly running as fast as they could through the woods while the woman got help. Just thinking about what happened, it made Clint's heart beat furiously in his chest. He was so angry with himself and Natasha.

Her behaviour wasn't helping, either. He completely understood how frustrated she must be feeling – he was feeling the same way – but she needed to pull her shit together, because he wasn't going to sit there and take it. Both were pissed and both were confined in that pathetic, disgusting little room.

He sighed in annoyance, shaking his head slightly.

Natasha bit down on her lip. She could almost feel Clint judging her. He was blaming her for what had happened, and that was just hypocritical. He was as much to blame. He was supposed to subdue the woman. He was supposed to tie her down. He was supposed to make her quiet. But _no_, somehow the woman had gotten free, she had fought them – what were the chances she had a black belt in martial arts – and she had gotten away.

None of it mattered. She had survived, but someone else would die in her place. Someone else needed to die fucking soon, because Natasha was about to burst. Still, she stayed quiet. She wasn't going to be the first to break. She flopped down on the bed and turned her back to Clint. They needed some space between them, or they would devour each other.

They got along, but they _didn't_. Between the two of them, it was always a back and forth battle to one-up the other. That was just the way it had been since they got together and started combining their skills. But that fucking woman with her martial arts skills … didn't Romanoff came from some shady Russian organisation or something?

Shaking his head once more, Clint got off the bed and turned the television off with more force than was actually necessary. He couldn't help it, though. The more he thought about what happened, the angrier he was becoming, and Natasha's childish actions weren't helping his mood, either. Without saying a word, Clint went into the bathroom, closed the door, and punched his fist right through the mirror. It was either that or her face, and _that_ wouldn't end well for either of them.

"Fucking amateur," Clint snapped out loudly. His fist was bleeding, but he was too furious to even think about the pain.

Natasha gritted her teeth together for a moment and turned to her other side so that she faced away from the bathroom.

"I heard that," She called out.

She had also heard the mirror shatter and she hoped Clint was in agony right now.

"Shut the fuck up!"

"I hope you bleed to death!"

"Yeah, well, when that bitch knocked your ass to the ground, I wish she would have broken your fucking neck!" Clint shouted back, clenching and unclenching his fists. He stormed back out of the bathroom and went back to his bed. Plopping down at the foot of the bed, Clint ran his hands through his hair, his blood pressure rising.

Slowly, Natasha pushed herself into a sitting position. She felt like fire was consuming her. She wanted to burst, she wanted to wreck, she wanted to fucking destroy. "You were responsible for tying her down," She said lowly. "You screwed up, Barton. How did a fucking twenty year old get free from your ties?"

"You're the Russian 'spy,'" Clint shot back, air-quoting her unofficial title. He didn't even deem her worthy enough to look at her. He had no idea what he would do if he did. "You didn't get a fucking hit in. You were on your back half the time!"

"And you stopped her?" Natasha screamed. She was seething and she needed an outlet. With one swift movement, she cleared her nightstand from its possessions. "You didn't even try to stop her! You ran the moment she got free! You ran from a twenty year old! It was _pathetic_."

"What's pathetic is being crammed in this fucking motel-room with a whiny bitch! Now shut the fuck up! We both screwed up!"

"I didn't start this," Natasha said, narrowing her eyes, "You did," She glanced down at his still bleeding hand and remembered his first comment – immature imbecile. "I'm going to catch some sleep," With that, she dropped back down and turned away from that bastard. If he thought she was willing to have a screaming-competition with him, then he was wrong.

"Yeah, and I'll try not to smother you with my pillow."

"As if you could," Natasha muttered. The fact remained that she excelled in hand-to-hand combat and Clint was good at making distant shots. That girl might have gotten the best of her simply because she had been completely taken of guard, but Clint didn't stand a chance with her. She would have him drooling on the floor in less than a minute.

She tightened her grip on the pillow and shut her eyes. _Ignore him_, she told herself, _just ignore him and get some sleep_.

Clint snorted. "I have a pretty good shot at that, seeing as how quickly you were down by someone who weighed no more than a hundred pounds."

He stood up and walked past her bed to get to the window. Why she had to have the bed closest to the window both annoyed and confused him.

"Come on then," Natasha suddenly said. She stood from the bed in the blink of an eye, all smooth movements. She was Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow. She had been killing since the young age of nine years old because her father was a nut-job. She could take Barton. "Let's have a round," She lifted one eyebrow and spread her hands as she challenged him.

"What will you do for me when I win?"

Natasha snorted, but she quickly straightened her face. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there," She said. "If we get there, I mean."

"Oh, we'll get there."

And that was all Clint said before he pounced, his fist aiming straight for Natasha's stomach. She was easily able to deflect and move out of the way before any real contact was made, and she was striking before he was prepared, but Clint was adaptable. He went along with her move and was able to send a solid hit that sent her stumbling back a few steps. He poised himself and waited, his vibrant-coloured eyes locked on her.

Natasha didn't hesitate and slammed her fist forward, knowing that her punch would never land. It was nothing but a distraction, because as Clint pulled back his head to avoid getting punched on the nose Natasha spun around, jumped up, and kicked out a leg, her foot easily connecting with Clint's shoulder.

He stumbled and Natasha dropped to the floor. She swung out her leg and knocked Clint right off of his feet. He landed on the ground with a hard crash. With an elegant summersault, she positioned herself on top of Clint, her thighs straddling his chest. Her hands pinned down Clint's directly above his head.

She grinned.

"Oh, so you can fight. Where was this when that bitch was kicking your ass?" Clint demanded. He was a bit embarrassed to say the least, but if he could get her angry then he could fight back and switch positions.

Natasha's grin didn't falter. Her grip on Clint remained as strong as ever. "Maybe I was saving it all for you," She leaned forward. "This is almost as much fun as watching that bitch run for her life."

Clint chuckled before lifting his legs up, wrapping them around Natasha's neck, and forcing her on the ground. The action made her let him go, and Clint immediately clambered to his feet. Reaching down, he grabbed a handful of her fiery red hair and pulled her up, only to slam her back down to the ground.

Natasha let out a growl. She somehow wriggled her way out of Clint's grasp and grabbed his arm. After twisting it into a painful angle, her teeth sunk into its flesh until she could taste his blood. That's when she let him go, rolled away from him, swiftly stood and took a power stance. For a moment, she wondered what Clint was seeing right now. She must look insane, with her hair wild and actual blood dripping down her chin. She slowly wiped it away and smiled.

He came at her, but he didn't attack just yet. He merely walked until he saw her back hitting the opposite wall. His fist slammed into the wall beside her head, his gaze checking out the wound on his arm before those piercing eyes locked on her once more. "Are you a biter, Romanoff?" But before she could say anything, Clint slammed his left fist into her stomach. When she doubled over, he then wrapped his arm around her neck, holding her hunched into that position.

But Natasha refused to be defeated so easily. She punched both her fists into Clint's side, making him gasp for air, as well as momentarily loosen his grip on her neck. She used the opportunity to lower herself, twist around and then slam a knee upwards. She was very lean and lithe and without much trouble, she felt her knee connect with Clint's nose.

Clint's arms disappeared from around her and she fell to the floor. Rolling away, she got to her knees which she spread as far as possible and planted one hand firmly on the ground. From this position, she could launch herself at Clint, but she didn't do that just yet.

"Yes, I'm a biter," She said. "I guess you never had the chance to find that out."

The wound on Clint's arm was still bleeding and, after making sure his nose wasn't bleeding, as well – thank God, it wasn't – he glanced at it before turning back to her. "Actually, I think I have."

This wasn't the first time they had danced around each other like this. This _definitely_ wouldn't be the first they would fuck – because they _would_ fuck the moment they stopped trying to snap each other's necks, and since their brains were wired differently from other people, blood, cursing and fighting made them horny.

"Have you now?" She asked coyly.

"Yeah," Clint said his face completely devoid of emoticon. "I think I have your teeth imprinted in my ass still."

"Hmm, I left it there as a warning," Natasha grinned. She still didn't move from her position low to the floor. She was still ready to launch herself at Clint should that be necessary.

Clint didn't give her the chance. Natasha was quite fast and quick on her feet, but Clint wasn't so bad, either. He tackled her to the ground, his arms bracketing her, his legs on either side of her hips. "And what warning might that be exactly?" His left hand came up, wrapping around her neck.

One quick twist of her hips and a shove forward, and Natasha reversed their positions. Now Clint was on his back and Natasha was straddling him, though his hand around her throat had somehow stayed in place. That was okay … "That you're mine," She said, leaning into his touch. "And that should anyone dare to touch you like I do, I will fuck them up."

Clint stared at her for a moment, his expression blank before leaning up as much as he could. He slammed his lips against hers. It was a bruising kiss – one that knocked the air out of both of them, but that was just how they liked it.

A moan came from somewhere deep within her, but Natasha didn't mind. Her fingers curled around Clint's wrist, but she didn't yank away his hand from her neck. She just sought contact. She rolled her hips, feeling Clint's semi-hardness beneath her. She would have to change that. When she pulled away from the kiss, simply because they needed air, she let a hand travel down Clint's stomach, all the way to the edge of his loose trousers.

"Are we done?" She asked. "Fighting, I mean?"

He snorted. "When are we ever done fighting?"

Her fingers disappeared into his trousers and she curled them around the soft hair she found. She was teasing him, driving him mad, and she loved it. "Point taken …"

"Oh, you're such a bitch," Clint said, a mixture between a growl and a moan coming from deep within his throat. His head dropped to the ground before he tightened his grip around her neck and he yanked her to the side, intent to roll on top of her.

And Natasha let him. She stared up at him, her lips pursed together for a moment. "What are you going to do to me?"

Clint didn't say in words what he was going to do and that meant that Natasha wouldn't know until it actually happened. They were pretty good at reading each other – they had to be if they were going to work together – but there were times when neither wanted everything broadcasted. Privacy was very important to the both of them when they weren't on the job.

So it came to quite a surprise when Clint reached and grabbed a hold of her shirt, ripping it open uncaringly. He slid down her body just a bit, his cock – rock-hard now – brushing against her lower body. Without warning, Clint bent and sank his teeth in the flesh of her breast, biting down hard.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Natasha let out a strangled moan – she was somewhere between pleasure and pain, but that's how she like it. That's how she wanted it! Her hands found the button of Clint's trousers and she easily ripped it off – _p__ayback for my shirt, bastard_. She zipped open his pants and exposed his rock hard length.

Natasha grinned. "Eager, are we?"

One hand went right back to her throat, his fingers tightening around it to the point where she was seeing black spots in her vision, while the other went to her crotch. Clint was always good with his hands and he always knew what to do to get Natasha going. He wiggled his fingers across her crotch before digging his fingers in. She was still wearing jeans, so the action wasn't as effective, but he could see how much it was affecting her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes rolled in the back of her head.

"You're such a fucking bitch," He hissed, his mood always shifting from hot-to-cold at a moment's notice. "Don't you ever stop talking?"

"Now … who's … the teasing … bitch?" Natasha managed to choke out, both her hands curled around the arm that was holding her down. She bucked her hips upwards, seeking more friction from her jeans and Clint's fingers.

Those fingers around her neck tightened even more. Clint stopped rubbing her and leaned down until his lips were barely brushing over Natasha's. His vibrant-coloured eyes were shining brightly – they always shined, even in the darkness, it seemed like – as they stared intently down at her.

"When will you learn that _I _am in control here? I'm always in control here. If you want me to take care of you, if you want me to make you scream and moan and _cum_ in pleasure, then you will shut your damn mouth, do you understand me?"

Oh, he did not just say that! The edges of Natasha's lips curved upwards, momentarily distracting him with her apparent obedience and silence. Two seconds later, she swiftly kicked out her leg, her knee slamming into Clint's back. Her assault made him loose his balance and fall forward, his hand slipping away from her neck. Natasha threw herself forward and knocked Clint onto his back before climbing on top of him.

"If I wait for you to get started," She said, "I won't cum until the sun rises again," Her hands travelled down her own stomach, slowly and sensually. Finally, she reached her trousers and started unbuttoning them.

A snarl passed from his as he sat up, his lips slamming into hers. One hand joined hers as they unbuttoned her jeans, while the other was travelling around her body, taking in the many curves of Natasha Romanoff.

"Fucking bitch," He said against her lips.

Natasha kissed him hard, her teeth sinking into his lower lip. When she pulled away, she was grinning.

"I know," She said. "The bitch and the asshole – it's a perfect combination."

They finally managed to open her jeans so Natasha stood and teasingly pushed them over the round curves of her hips. They fell to her ankles and she stepped out of them. She was completely naked now.

Clint was momentarily frozen as he looked at the woman before him from head to toe, his cock hardening and his mouth watering. She truly was beautiful and the mere sight of her could knock the breath right out of him. Luckily for him, she didn't know that and, luckily for him, he was skill enough to hide it from her. When his gaze finally landed on those blue eyes, he couldn't even find the words to speak. His mind was shouting at him to say something, but his mouth was suddenly too dry.

A large, genuine smile broke free across Natasha's features. Maybe she didn't understand the full effect she had on Clint Barton, but she could see something new in his bright eyes. There was lust, a lot of lust, but something else, as well. And it was all because of her. One hand slipped to her already wet cunt, her fingers expertly circling her clit.

"If you don't get naked soon," She said, threatening. "I'll have to help myself," She let out a moan when the tip of her finger found that glorious spot.

That was all the words of encouragement he needed to snap out of that daze. His shirt was the first to go, the muscles in this arms and abs needed to remove the shirt rippling with every shift. He was toned and his cock wasn't the only place that was rock hard. Standing up himself, Clint rid himself of his jeans, kicking them off and to the side. Grabbing a hold of Natasha's hand, he pulled her fingers from her cunt before slamming her against the wall.

"Don't do that."

"Hmm, this is more like it."

She arched her back so that her body was pressing against Clint's and she could feel his hardness against her lower stomach. Natasha wondered what he would do to her. Would he fuck her here against the wall? Would he throw her on the bed and take her from behind? The mere thoughts made her moan.

"Tell me what you want," Clint said, leaning in, his lips brushing against her neck, his breath hot against her skin. His hands splayed themselves on her hips, his fingers possessively tightly.

"I want –" Clint's nails dug into the sensitive skin of her inner thighs and she wanted to curse him, but all she did was let out a shaky breath. "I want – fuck, Clint, just …" She didn't need actual words to tell Clint what she wanted.

She wrapped her arms around Clint's neck and claimed his lips, her tongue exploring everything behind Clint's lips. She had done this a hundred times already, but it remained exciting. So she kissed him until they were desperate for air while she hooked her legs around Clint's hips, her back firmly pressed against the wall behind her while Clint held her up with those muscular arms she needed to feel around her.

To get a strong reaction out of him, she pressed her warm, wet cunt to his hardness; making him want her, desire her, lust after her. She loved it.

He moaned, his head in the crook of her neck, eyes squeezed shut. She was too much sometimes; to the point where he didn't which way was left or right, up or down. She was beautiful and she was strong and she never ceased to amaze him.

He needed a moment to calm down, otherwise he'd lose all sense of control and cum right then and there, and he didn't want that. No, he wanted to worship every inch of her body and he damn well expected the same in return. When Clint was sure that he had control over himself, he rolled his hips, his fingers slowly rising to where they stroking her clit.

Natasha bit down on her lip. She didn't want to moan. She had already moaned enough and she didn't want to appear desperate. But she _was_ desperate. God, she needed Clint to move, she needed him inside of her, she – she – she needed him to claim her!

One hand slipped down his chest, feeling the taut muscles just underneath the skin. He was all golden and glistening with a thin layer of sweat. She pressed her lips to the crook of his neck and sucked while her hand continued to travel lower until her fingers slipped over the tip of Clint's oversensitive cock.

"Do it, Clint," She said, breathing hard. She positioned herself a little higher, locked her legs around his waist once more and guided his cock to the entrance of her cunt. "Just do it."

Any other day, he would have prolonged, would have made Natasha beg and plead for him to put his cock inside of her. Now was not one of those days, though. He needed her just as much as she needed him. Putting a hand under her thigh, Clint hoisted her off the ground, making her wrap her other leg around her waist. He kept her against the wall – he would need that stability very soon, he was sure – and guided his cock to her cunt. No stretching was necessary – Natasha liked pain with pleasure. He began to push into her slowly, but the combination of her heat and his cock throbbing made him impatient, and he soon thrusted into her, burying himself fully inside of her.

"Ungf," Natasha threw her head back and squeezed her eyes shut, her grip on Clint's shoulders tightening and her nails digging into his skin. "Yes … Clint," She rolled her hips, feeling him move inside of her. It was all pain and pleasure and she marvelled at it.

He pulled out and slammed back into her, his fingers still rubbing over the folds. His breath was coming out in quick pants, his head unable to be moved from the crook of her neck. She smelt heavenly and tasted even better. Clint's tongue swept from his mouth and slid over her skin, tasting the salt from her skin and detecting something else, something that was completely Natasha.

"Don't …" Natasha couldn't think properly. "Don't go too fast – too hard," She liked pain, but it had to be in perfect balance with pleasure. She knew Clint could sometimes get lost in the moment, the same went for her, but she also knew how to bring him back. "Fuck, Clint," She liked to say his name. No, she loved it.

Pressing a kiss to her neck, Clint rolled his hips, but stayed completely still after she spoke. His lips worked around her neck and shoulder blades, kissing and nipping and sucking at the skin, and his fingers continued to rub her clit, but he didn't move.

"_No_," Natasha could barely breathe. All friction had suddenly fallen away and while he was still gloriously rubbing her clit, it wasn't enough. "I didn't tell you to stop," She wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and let her hands trail down. Eventually, she reached his ass and she grabbed hold of it.

Burying her face into his shoulder, she started to kiss him there. She needed contact, as much contact as she could. To encourage Clint to go on, she tensed the muscles of her cunt, drawing him deeper into her once again.

"I didn't tell you to move," Clint said with a growl. Nevertheless, he complied, slowly pulling out before pushing back in, his pace and velocity moderate and easy. His lips worked their way down until he sucked at the faint bite-mark that he made to her breast not too long ago. She marked him and he was intent on returning the favour. His teeth sank down into her skin and he bit down hard before lapping at the wound and any small beads of blood that might have escaped.

"Argh," Natasha dug her nails deeper into the skin of Clint's ass. "Yes!" Now this was more like it. This was the perfect balance that only Clint knew how to achieve. She rolled her hips, bucking into Clint's touch. She moved however the fuck she wanted. "Yes, Clint," Clint loved it when she said his name. "Clint."

"Fuck," He moaned against her neck, his breath shaky. He felt like he was losing his mind. He could feel his orgasm coming, could feel his body tensing and relaxing again and again. Lifting his head, Clint leaned his forehead against Natasha's, vibrant-coloured eyes staring into her deep blues.

She could feel his breath on her face, all hot and overwhelming. She pressed a quick kiss to his lips and she could feel herself being pushed towards the edge. Clint was doing things to her that she barely ever experienced. She felt hot and cold at the same time while ripples of pleasure coursed through her body.

"Clint," She would say his name a dozen times, but each time would still be special – be perfect. She could feel how close he was getting to blowing and she wanted to draw it out of him. She tensed her cunt around his cock and forcibly pushed down her hips.

He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, letting out a cry of pleasure. God, he didn't know how long he would be able to last. It was too much. He felt as though he was being thrashed around in a river, completely disoriented and drowning. His grip on her tightened, and he brought her all the closer to him. He wouldn't let her go, couldn't.

"Natasha," He breathed out.

"Yes," She said. She leaned further into Clint's grip and she needed him to rub that one spot of her cunt over and over again. She needed to find her release, because the tension in her muscles made her feel like she was on fire. She couldn't handle this. Tears had come to her eyes. Clint was driving her mad with his touches and kisses and she just could not handle it. It was too much. "Clint. Just … _fuck_."

It was a matter of seconds – or not

"Yes. _Yes_. Fuck. _YES_. CLINT!"

Every muscle of her body tensed, her toes curled and her nails dug deep into whatever skin she could feel. Spasms of pleasure consumed her, and she couldn't breathe, she couldn't move, she couldn't think. She could just … _feel_.

Clint's thrusts sped up as he felt his own orgasm quickly approaching. He screwed his eyes shut tightly as he listened to Natasha's cries of pleasure, until he could feel her cumming, soaking his cock. Her heart was pounding furiously against his chest, and he timed with thrusts with that.

"_God_," He choked out. He continued to pound into her, riding out her orgasm, as well as spurring his on.

There was nothing but sound. Skin slapping against skin. Breathing, moans, cries – it surrounded them and Natasha let it wash over her. She dropped her head forward until it rested in the crook of Clint's neck and tightened the grip she had on his waist with her legs. She needed him closer to her.

It didn't take long at all before Clint was coming. Natasha clenched her cheeks together, suffocating his cock and cutting any and all control Clint had. He slammed his lips against hers as he came, moaning into her mouth and he shoved his tongue inside. He thrusted his hips forward, no longer caring about keeping a moderate pace. He _needed_ to cum, _needed_ the release.

He leaned against Natasha, thankful that he had her pressed against the wall, because Clint was sure that he would have fallen if not. His legs felt shaky as it was.

And Natasha pushed him over the edge. She kissed him back with all the passion and energy she still possessed and rolled her hips in one swift, demanding movement. Then she pulled her cunt away from him only to drop back down a second later. She repeated the movement a few times and finally, she could feel Clint's release inside of her.

How he did it, he didn't know, but he walked them back over to the bed, his legs wobbling and shaking the whole way, and dropped down, Natasha on top of him, his cock still embedded inside of her.

Somehow, a grin spread across her face as she straddled Clint's lap and let her hands roam free over his chest, feeling him, scratching him, pinching him –claiming him. She rode him, feeling his hard cock inside of her making her moan.

"What do you want to go again?" Clint asked, his voice hoarse and deep and so hot.

"Why? Are you getting tired?" Natasha asked coyly.

Oh, it was going to be a long night.


End file.
